Cream and Whiskey
by Lili-Hunter
Summary: When Castiel is instructed to "re-befriend" the Winchesters, Gabriel helps his younger brother in the way he knows best - turn him into something so adorable, even the Winchesters can't resist his face. But the more time Cas spends in their presence, the more he realises that some things in his life no longer add up. Kitten!Castiel. Fluff galore, and light Destiel.
1. Instinctive

**Instinctive**

_"If a cat does something, we call it instinct; if we do the same thing, for the same reason, we call it intelligence." - William Cuppy_

* * *

"Castiel? Brother, are you listening to me?"

The demanding words shook Castiel from his reverie, and the angel turned away from the open window. Beyond, the fifty-six year old man, in whose Heaven they resided, made his way slowly along the garden path. His mind had recreated the presence of his wife, and they spoke together in hushed tones.

If angels were not meant to feel no emotion, Castiel may have found the sight heartwarming. But, as it was, he did not.

"Yes, Zachariah. I am listening." Castiel clasped his hands behind his back, holding the seraph's gaze steadily.

"Good. Now, as I was saying, we have come to the agreement that _your_ actions are what led to this rift between the Host and the Winchesters." Well, that was putting it mildly. He very much doubted that Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man, had appreciated Castiel's devastating right hook.

"It was necessary," Castiel said firmly. Zachariah glanced at the young – relatively speaking – angel, and then exhaled in a sigh.

"No one doubts your word, brother," he assured him, "despite the fact that you have not said much on the subject."

Castiel's gaze shifted, clashing with Zachariah's. His eyebrows moved slightly, forming the smallest of scowls. "Gabriel is fully aware of all that transpired," he said stiffly. "If he was of the opinion that I should share it with you, he did not mention it."

Zachariah swallowed, and Castiel could see the way he struggled to keep a tight leash over his emotions. It was almost refreshing, to see the stuffy seraph so close to losing control. But an archangel's authority was absolute – even if that archangel happened to be in an 'angelic witness protection program'.

"Of course," Zachariah said smoothly. "But I digress. The Host has seen it as your fault that this rift was created – and now, you must be the one to mend it. Michael _must_ have his vessel when the day comes."

"I do not believe I am the one-"

"But you _must_ be! Michael is certain that you have the best chance to reestablish good relationships between us once more. Castiel," Zachariah's voice turned disapproving, "preparing the Righteous Man to be the Michael Sword is an honor. Treat it as such."

Castiel bowed his head. If Michael had truly ordered it, there was no way he could disobey. "Of course, brother," he murmured. Well, there was one.

Surely, Gabriel would help his little brother.

With the muted fluttering of Castiel's large, thick, black wings, the Angel of Thursday vanished.

* * *

When Castiel finished informing Gabriel of all that Zachariah had told him, the archangel wasted approximately one-point-three seconds in attempting to get himself under control, before bursting into peals of laughter. "Father," he giggled, exaggeratedly wiping away a tear, "that's hilarious."

"Gabriel…" the younger brother began.

"Yeah, yeah." Gabriel snapped his fingers, and then crunched happily into the chocolate bar that had appeared in his fist. He shrugged as he spoke, his mouth full of the human food; "Don't get your knickers in a twist."

Castiel sighed, and settled back against the seat of his brother's sofa. "I will not lower myself into befriending Dean Winchester again," he growled.

"Oh, please." Gabe waved away the words with a snort. "You wasted forty years in Hell to get his sorry ass outta there. It was one incident – you can't stay grumpy for eternity, bro."

"I can," Castiel insisted, crossing his arms. Father, he knew he was behaving like a fledgling, but he didn't want to stop. Surely, Castiel had the right to be angry. That emotion was acceptable – in moderation.

"Please," Gabriel scoffed. " Besides, I'm surprised you stopped him at all."

Castiel half-rose from his chair, asking, "What?"

"Ugh. Never mind. You'll find out soon enough."

Castiel narrowed his eyes, but Gabriel was immune to his glare. He'd finished the chocolate, and now sucked on an obnoxiously large, rainbow lollipop. He tried once more, but Gabe silenced him.

"Nuh-uh, Cassie. This is how I see it; you have to go back, so stop complaining. I can't help you!"

"But-" Castiel broke off with a frustrated groan. No, his emotions were too strong today. The angel inhaled slowly, forcing them under his control once more. When he spoke again, his voice was steady. "The Winchesters cannot stand my very presence, I am sure. As I cannot stand Dean's," he added quickly. "How can I 'befriend' them, as Michael wishes?"

There was a long moment of silence, until a brilliant smile spread onto Gabriel's face. Castiel's heart sunk just at the sight of it, as he knew his brother had thought of something either legendarily foolish, or dangerously intelligent.

"Well, Cassie, I see your problem." Gabe's grin grew wider. "How can you befriend the Winchesters, when they cannot stand _your_ presence?" he quoted. "Oh, but the answer is simple: it mustn't be _your_ presence then, at all."

Gabriel spun, and snapped his fingers before Castiel could even fully register his words. There was a bright flash that enveloped the room, blinding the angel. Fire enveloped his limbs, and Castiel was suddenly faced with the most exquisite agony he had ever known. Bones snapped and shuddered, his muscles deteriorating at hyper-speed, and his skin shrunk in on itself. A peculiar sensation raced up and down his body, almost as though needles were forcing themselves out of his skin.

Then came the most painful break of all. Castiel felt a giant hand take his wings and snap them, folding the black mess of feathers together and using his own grace to wrap it together in a tight bundle. Pain lanced down his spine, and the angel screamed in agony.

It was over. Castiel blinked groggily, and picked himself up from the floor. It seemed much colder than before. He could feel the loss of his wings like a physical ache. Castiel could still feel the small, powerful bundle of grace and wings – but he could not access it as he could before. A tiny, tiny thread was available to him. Castiel drew on it, absorbing the power, but it was not enough.

Suddenly, large boulders invaded his vision. Castiel felt himself being picked up by the scruff of his neck, and was brought face to face with Gabriel.

"Aw, look at the widdle puddy tat," the archangel giggled.

Castiel hissed – _hissed?_ – and swiped out at his brother's wrist. His claws simply bounced off the angel's skin though, and Gabriel smiled. "Sorry that it hurt, bro, but this is for your own good."

Gabriel turned, cradling Castiel towards his chest as he marched to the other side of the room. The archangel reversed his grip, shoving the angel towards the reflective surface of a mirror. Castiel gasped.

With electric blue eyes – the same colour as his previous vessel's – a bright pink nose, long whiskers, fluffy, dark black fur, too-big paws, and a swishing tail, the kitten that stared back at him was shocking. Its ears flattened against its head, even as Castiel felt his own mimic the gesture.

"Aren't you adorable?" Gabriel near-squealed. "The Winchesters will not be able to resist a face like that."

Oh, Father. This was not happening.

"Get ready to meet your new family, Cassie," Gabe laughed, transferring the kitten to one hand. He winked at the black cat, whom stared back in panic. Gabriel could not be serious.

But the archangel snapped his fingers, and the world dissolved around Castiel.

* * *

Castiel blinked, slowly, as the world un-blurred around him. The ground beneath his paws was cold, wet, and uneven. Castiel stretched, and felt his claws retract as he settled into a much more relaxed position.

_Father help him._ Castiel would find Gabriel, and insist that he reverse the transformation.

Something trailed along the very edges of his grace, and Castiel bolted upright. The air suddenly seemed infused with lightning, and it caused his black fur to stand on end. Castiel glanced around, confused as to what had so abruptly alerted him – and why.

He was alone in a dark, supermarket parking lot. From the looks of it, the town he had arrived in was a small, dirty one, and it was very late. Louts and drunkards littered the streets, and Castiel glanced at the sky. It was just past eleven, it seemed.

The supermarket, though closed, shed light on the small parking lot, and Castiel slowly grew uneasy. What if someone saw him? The most logical human reaction would be for them to either take the kitten in, and set up signs alerting the town in case he were somebody's pet, or to take Castiel to the local pound.

Castiel didn't even _want_ to know what would happen to him, if those whom found him were inebriated.

He darted into the shadows, flicking his tail as the ground disappeared beneath his feet much, _much_ slower than he was used to. Oh, Castiel was still fast – well, as fast as a kitten could be – but there was nothing in this universe faster than the flight of an angel.

Something tugged at Castiel's paws, and he turned almost automatically to the left. After a moment, he recognized it as his grace. It was… leading him? But where? Why? And to whom?

His grace prompted him once more, and Castiel trotted forward. A long, dark alley stretched before him, and the kitten meowed pitifully. He was too weak in this form, and alleyways were dangerous.

_You're an angel, you ass_, his mind snapped. _Hurry up!_

Reluctantly, he moved forward once more. It was dark, and smelly, and some foul liquid pooled to the left side. Castiel's nose twitched, and he identified it a moment later as urine. He scuttled away from it, lifting his paws from the dirty ground as far as he could.

Once he was free of the dark tunnel, Castiel ran to cover. His fur blended almost perfectly, a slightly too-dark shadow, but it was as good as he could have hoped for.

Castiel _really_ did not want to be found. Not like this.

His grace nudged him down the street, and Castiel succumbed. He was interested, and a little confused, on where it wanted to take him. Gabriel had done his work well, and the little kitten could only access a tiny thread of his once vast grace. As he walked, Castiel made an attempt to look around. His eyes were sharper than Jimmy's had been, and they saw much better in the dark.

It appeared his grace had led him from the semi-respectable part of town to the seething underbelly. He was almost a little shocked that they were not further apart – what if a child were to wander, unsupervised, to one of these unholy dens of iniquity? Strip clubs and bars were plentiful in the streets, each one smelling of alcohol, leather, and sweat.

_Wait_. Of course. Castiel seethed with rage. Father help him – he knew where his grace was leading him. Where _Gabriel_ was leading him. Because, where else could the tiny kitten find refuge? Where else could Castiel trust to be taken care of, until the time as he could transform himself back? Where else, in fact, had he been ordered to go?

The tiny black kitten was shaking in fury. Because, as much as he hated to admit it, Gabriel was right.

And Gabriel was leading him to none other than Dean Winchester.

* * *

It was half an hour later when Castiel finally arrived at the bar where, inside, he knew the Winchesters would be. The road – busy for the late hour – had taken the kitten much courage to cross. The feat that would have been simple as an angel, had taken him more than twenty minutes as a kitten. It seemed this vessel had strong instincts, and none of them were willing to walk into oncoming traffic.

_The Recovery Room_ was the name of the bar that his grace had led him to, and Castiel flicked his tail in disapproval as he passed. He could already smell its occupants, and the name seemed somewhat misleading.

Castiel crept slowly through the open door. Loud noises attacked his ears, and he flattened them in fright. His tail bristled automatically, and a hiss slipped from his lips before he could catch it. Castiel bit off the sound quickly, but it appeared no one had noticed.

His grace nudged at his side, and Castiel moved further into the dirty bar. Shadows were plentiful, and he crept along them, following the trail. Booths lined the walls, their leather seats cracked, with legs pressing firmly into the ground. He dashed beneath them, careful to keep his paws relaxed and the claws retracted; else they click along the wooden floorboards.

_There_, his grace whispered. Castiel lifted his gaze.

Across the room, staring intently into a dimmed computer screen, was Sam. Castiel felt relief flood through him at the sight – finally, someone whom could help him!

He scampered across the dirty floor. But the bar was crowded, and Castiel still unused to having four limbs – he slipped and tumbled, crashing into a smooth, long pair of legs.

Castiel glanced up, just as the woman glanced down. Bright red heels were attached to her legs, which led up over curvy hips, a flat stomach, and an overflowing chest. The angel thought that her shirt was a little too tight.

The woman smiled, and bent down to scoop up the small kitten. Her long nails pressed uncomfortably into his ribs, and Castiel hissed. She simply cooed, and cradled the kitten to her chest. She murmured nonsensical words of comfort into his ears, dragging her hand along the thick fur of his back.

Castiel squirmed, panicking. Where was Sam when you need him? But then, the man behind the bar looked up. "Hey, lady," he called, scowling. "You can't bring pets in here!"

"Oh, she's not mine," the woman giggled. '_She?_'? Castiel may not have had a gender, but the vessel was male. He hissed again, and tried to leap from her grip. Humans were strong, though, and the female shook him lightly. "She just wandered in here, I guess."

"Well, get her out of here," the barman answered distrustfully. He tipped his head towards the open door. "We have a strict policy."

"No!" Castiel cried, but the sound came out as an indignant yowl.

The scene had attracted some attention, and as the woman marched down the bar, several people turned to catch a glimpse of the small kitten. Castiel tried, once again, to squirm free of her grip, but it was useless.

Just as he was tossed onto the street, Castiel turned and glanced back into the bar. His piercing blue gaze clashed with a familiar green, and the angelic kitten tried to rush back in. Unfortunately, the woman closed the door just in time, and his nose bumped into the hardened wood.

Castiel settled back onto his two back paws, and tried scratching at the door. He tipped his head back and meowed pitifully. There was no response. Indignant anger pounded through the small kitten's body. He was an angel of the Lord! He deserved their respect!

Castiel let slip a final hiss, before turning on one paw and trotting into the car park. One fact was glaringly obvious – he was powerless in this form, and needed outside help. And the closest form of that was currently locked behind those big, wooden doors.

But not for long.

Castiel spotted the '67 Chevy Impala almost too easily. It stood out in stark contrast to the other, more modern cars, and he trotted towards it on light paws. He had been planning on curling up besides its front wheels and waiting for the Winchesters to arrive – but as the cold air threaded unwelcoming fingers through his thick fur, he quickly changed his mind. The passenger window was partially open, and the car beside it had a low hood.

Castiel jumped up nimbly, his claws lightly scratching the red paint. He shot a glance towards the window, and bunched his muscles before leaping between the small gap.

His tiny, kitten body only just squeezed through, and Castiel tumbled painfully onto the gear stick. A small meow slipped from his mouth, and Castiel quickly scrambled into the nearest seat, his right side pounding painfully.

Slowly, his grace wrapped around his injured flank. It sank deep comfort into his skin, relieving the pain and working to remove the bruises. Castiel had healed much more quickly in his human vessel, but he knew that the pain and bruises would be gone by morning.

Castiel curled up on the leather seat, tucking his furry head between his two paws. It was still cold, but the car blocked the cold wind, and for that the angel was grateful. His eyes blinked, but now that he was resting, he could feel the weariness of his small kitten body. Slowly, his body heat began to warm up the leather seat, and Castiel relaxed even further.

It was fifteen minutes before Castiel succumbed, slipping into an untroubled slumber. Angels did not usually sleep, but this vessel had surprisingly strong instincts. Castiel was soon breathing slowly and quietly, his mind lost in dreams of his siblings and their far-away home.

And when Sam and Dean Winchester finally returned, that was how they found him.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__Hello, everyone! This is my first Supernatural fanfic, and so any tips and/or constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated. However, since this is the first chapter, I have a few house-keeping issues I need to deal with._

_Firstly - and I'm honestly sorry for this - I have no idea how often this can be updated. The second chapter is already well under way, but I'm hoping to at least have chapter three ready before the next one is uploaded. This will, most likely, have occurred by next week - but no promises!_

_Secondly, I know that the beginning of this chapter was probably confusing for you. That's all right - I intended it to be! Because while this might look like your typical, fluffy kitten!Castiel fic, I promise I have some tricks stashed up my sleeve. Don't worry though, there will be plenty of fluff. Perhaps, also, a tiny teaspoon of angst. Just a little one. :) Everything will be cleared up in good time._

_Thirdly, I do not have any claim to the cover image of this story. Unfortunately, I could not find the artist, but if you know whom it is, please drop me a line! I will be glad to give them credit for such an amazing image._

_Lastly, thank you so much for reading, and please let me know what you thought! :)_


	2. A Little Lacking In Customer Service

**A Little Lacking In Customer Service**

_"Customers don't expect you to be perfect. They do expect you to fix things when they go wrong." - Donald Porter_

* * *

Dean Winchester, believe it or not, was having a terrible night.

The motel they were staying at was crappy – though, wasn't it always? – the potential hunt that they'd found in this town turned out to be fake bullshit; the bar's alcohol had been watered down; and no one in there had given him so much as a second glance.

But now, the universe had apparently decided to give him one final middle finger, because damn him to hell – again – if that wasn't a fucking kitten snoozing on his seat.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," he snapped. Dean bent over, rapping his knuckles sharply on the window. "Wake up, little guy, you're outta here."

"What's wrong, Dean?" Sam called, striding up behind him. He didn't need to turn around to know that his brother's face was set into a scowl – his normal expression at one am when he thought there was trouble. However, Dean could see his reflection in the window as he caught sight of the small black kitten. His expression softened. "Awww… look at it, it's sleeping," he whispered.

It was Dean's turn to scowl. "I know," he hissed, and yanked on the door handle. The Impala swung open, and Dean reached into it. His fingers closed around the kitten's neck, and he roughly pulled it out of his baby. "If you've scratched the seat, so help me God," he threatened, preparing to drop the young cat onto the ground.

Sam's hand closed around his brother's wrist, tightly. "Dean," he hissed, eyes wide, "what are you doing?"

What did it look like he was doing? Dean shook his hand a little, staring back at his brother. The kitten meowed. "It was sleeping in my baby!"

"Dean." Sam's expression fell into the bitchiest bitch-face his brother had ever seen. It was a little awe-inspiring. "Put. The kitten. Down."

"But-" Sam raised an eyebrow. Dean huffed, quietly, "what did you think I was doing?" But he put the kitten gently onto the ground. It scuttled away, spinning to hiss at the older Winchester, its ears flattened against its head. The kitten danced backwards, its black fur bristling in anger, before bumping into Sam's feet. It jumped up in surprise, as though it had not seen the other man. But then, it relaxed, and settled onto his brother's feet. The kitten turned to scowl at Dean.

Jesus Christ, the cat was taking _sides?_

"Dean, you can't just do that to a kitten!" The bitchface was gone, replaced by his puppy-dog eyes. Jesus Christ. It was too late – early, whatever – for him to face _that_. Both expressions in one night was just plain unfair. Unhealthy, even.

"C'mon, Sammy," Dean groaned. "It's that same annoying cat that was runnin' around the bar, and this just isn't the time. Get in the car." He stepped around his little brother, and slid into the driver's seat. Sam stared at his brother incredulously. "What?"

"Dean," Sam hissed, "it's a _kitten_."

"And?" he asked, brushing the question aside with a shrug.

"A _poor_, _defenseless_, _kitten_," Sammy whispered, his eyebrows raising so high they almost disappeared into his hair. "We can't just leave it here, alone."

Dean sighed loudly, the rush of air escaping his mouth in an expression of discontentment. He rolled his eyes, and turned the keys in the ignition. "Yes, we can," he said, his tone brooking no argument.

Sam clenched his jaw, and Dean watched in surprise as the kitten pawed at his brother's leg. Sammy glanced down, his expression softening once more, before he bent down and ran a gentle hand along the feline's back, before lifting it carefully into his arms. "Dean…" he began.

Their gazes met, and Dean felt his will crumbling away like sand. Then, the kitten squirmed in his brother's grip, and turned to face the hunter as well.

_Jesus Christ_. It appeared that the kitten was just as experience in the "kicked-puppy-look" department. Its blue eyes blinked slowly, and Dean felt familiarity coil in his chest. For some reason, it was as though he recognized the small feline.

_Don't be stupid_, his mind snapped. _It's a fucking kitten_.

"Fine. Whatever," Dean growled, slamming his door shut. Sammy grinned, and shot him a grateful look before loping around the Impala and sliding into the passenger seat. "Keep that damn thing off my leather," he threatened, giving the black kitten a sideways glance, "and we'll be dropping it off at the vets tomorrow morning. Okay?"

"Okay," Sam answered. The kitten in his lap huffed, and tried to crawl onto the leather seat, but the young Winchester kept him carefully within reach. His lips stretched into a dopey grin as the kitten settled down enough to be scratched behind the ears. He paused in the action for a moment, turning to talk to Dean, when the kitten bumped his nose against the man's hand, as though asking for him to continue. Sam happily obliged.

Dean bit back a groan, and scowled out at the road beyond his steering wheel. This was _not_ going to end well.

* * *

When the Impala slowed to a stop, Castiel blinked slowly, struggling to push the haze of his weariness from his mind. Sam's gentle hand stroking his fur, plus the quiet murmur of the two boys' conversation and the background purr of the car's engine had lulled him nearly to sleep.

It seemed that this vessel was dangerous. Its instincts were much, much stronger than Jimmy's had ever been – and Castiel felt himself slipping into them very easily. Too easily.

Luckily, he had managed to stop himself before he purred. Castiel didn't think he'd ever be able to live down the shame of that, if it had indeed happened.

Sam pushed the car door open, cradling the kitten gently in his arms. Dean snorted quietly at the sight, but Castiel nuzzled into the younger Winchester's warm jacket. Heat radiated from the gigantic man, much like it would from his brothers and sisters, or from himself in a normal vessel, and the kitten side of Castiel's mind appreciated it very much.

The motel parking lot smelled dirty, and Castiel peeked out at it from over Sam's arms. He tried to climb over the strong limbs, his claws digging into the fabric of the jacket, in order to see better, but Sam simply chuckled and dragged him back. Dean glanced back at them, muttered something unintelligible, and then inserted the key into the lock of the motel door. The key twisted savagely, resulting in a small click. Castiel's ears flicked in response.

When they entered the room, Castiel found himself dumped unceremoniously onto the floor as both men made beelines towards the two beds. They shucked their jackets off, and laid them out on the small wooden table, before falling face-first into their mattresses.

Castiel flicked his tail, waiting. But soon, snores were rumbling from both their chests, and the angelic kitten resigned himself with what could only be described as a sigh. He frowned, rising onto all four legs and slinking towards the wooden table. It seemed terribly irresponsible for the two Winchesters to have done that – fallen straight in their beds, without checking for attackers first. Or hex bags.

It may have been early in the morning, but that was no excuse for a lack of diligence, Castiel thought. He would certainly have his work cut out for him, in trying to keep the Winchesters safe. Again. And in a weak vessel, cut off from his grace, no less!

Castiel leapt onto a wooden chair, before turning to claw his way onto the surface of the table. His claws dug deeply into the soft timber, and he scrambled upwards. Dean's and Sam's jackets were laid out before him, and he leant down, taking Dean's between his teeth and pulling it on top of his brother's. The soft fabrics made a delightfully comfortable bed, the angel thought, as he kneaded the jackets with his paws.

_A bed?_

Castiel threw himself backwards with a hiss. His tail lashed back and forth, a testament to his displeasure. He was a warrior, a mighty angel of the Lord – he didn't need a bed! He didn't even sleep!

He was _not_ a kitten.

Castiel sat up stiffly, far away from the jackets. Luckily, his scrambling had not awoken the Winchesters, and so he watched them with cool, sharp, blue eyes. It was his duty to watch over them. For five hours, he did not move. He did not blink.

He was an angel of the Lord, and he did not need to.

Many, many hours later, when the sun was still climbing the sky, Dean was the first to awake. Castiel resisted the urge to blink, when he spotted the kitten sitting stiffly on the kitchen table. "Jesus," he muttered, rubbing at his eyes. "You're kinda creepy, ya know that?"

Now, Castiel did blink in surprise, and rose to all four paws. It was a small drop to the floor tiles, and he landed on his feet, which Castiel counted as a good sign. The common human phrase was true, and it would have been worrying if he had not been in full control of his vessel.

Dean kicked the side of his brother's bed as he passed, and Sam groaned. "Get up, bitch," he called, stumbling into the bathroom.

"Jerk," Sam mumbled into his pillow.

Cas' ears flicked as he heard the shower being turned on, and the sound of Dean's voice as he began to hum to a familiar tune. Faint dregs of memory stirred in Castiel's mind, and he paused, one paw in the air and his head cocked to one side, and he struggled to recall them.

* * *

_"C'mon, Cas, you'll love it. Last one, too, I promise. Just trust me!"_

_Cas sighed, and closed his eyes for a brief second. "Very well, Dean."_

_"Thanks, Cas." Dean shot him a mischievous grin, and fiddled with the dials. Castiel looked away, his hands folded carefully in his lap, and watched the empty highway from his position in the 'shotgun' seat of the Impala. Dean had parked by the side of the road, angry after a fight with Sam. Cas had fluttered in, and one thing had lead to another – Dean trying to find a song that the angel could appreciate, to pass away the time._

_After a moment, Dean settled back against his seat with a smile. Cas could feel his gaze upon him, but he ignored it, instead dropping his chin and listening intently as the song began to play._

_It was not what he had expected. Minutes passed with no other noise than the song, and Dean's breathing. Castiel closed his eyes, and lost himself in the music. When the final bars faded away, he did not want to open his eyes. The song… he could almost believe that the song had had destined to play._

_Castiel took a shuddering breath, and glanced up at Dean. The hunter's eyes were slightly confused, and Cas smoothed his expression into something unreadable. "I'm sorry, Dean," he muttered._

_And then the Angel of Thursday spread his wings, and vanished._

* * *

_ "I'm an angel with a shotgun,  
Fighin' til the war's won,  
I don't care if Heaven won't take me back,  
I'll throw away my faith, babe, just to keep you safe,  
Don't you know you're everything I have?  
…And I wanna live, not just survive, tonight..." _

The final notes faded, and Castiel had to take a few blinks to steady himself. His legs suddenly felt weak, and he fell onto his backside with a sudden _oof _of air escaping his lungs. Sam glanced up at the noise, frowning.

What- what _was_ that? Castiel let out a sound close to a whine. He didn't remember that… and yet it seemed as though it had happened. He _did_ remember it. But the memory was clouded, fabricated – as though someone had placed it in his mind.

Was that- was that what had happened? Was the memory false? Had it been planted in his mind? Terrifyingly, Castiel did not know.

The kitten felt, rather than saw, the massive presence that knelt by his side. "Hey, kitty," Sam murmured, stroking his back softly. "Everything all right?"

Automatically, Cas arched into the touch, feeling the warmth of his hand chase away the anxiety that roiled in his stomach. He felt nauseous, but Sam's very presence was calming him, settling him. A purr slipped from his chest, but for the first time, the angel didn't really mind. The vibration calmed him, too; a familiar sensation to his vessel.

Sam was squatting on the cold floor, and Castiel turned to head-butt his knee, mewling pitifully. The young Winchester sighed, glancing towards the closed bathroom door, before carefully drawing the kitten into his arms. Cas watched as the ground disappeared beneath his paws as the tall man stood. "Don't tell Dean," he whispered, amused, as he scratched behind the kitten's ears.

_Oh._ Of course – how had Castiel forgotten? Dean wanted to take the kitten to the vets on their way out of town. How could Cas convince him, in such a short span of time, to keep the kitten on board?

Because the truth was, the kitten didn't think he could survive without the two Winchesters.

Sam walked slowly around the kitchen, before reaching into the fridge to extract what looked like leftovers from two nights ago. Cas' nose twitched as the smell registered in his nostrils, and meowed once more, this time in longing. White Castle burgers – Cas' favourite.

_Wait. Castiel had a favourite burger? But… he had never consumed one. He was an Angel of the Lord, whom did not need nutrition…_

Shaking his head, as though to dispel the confusion, Cas wondered if it was, perhaps, a residual thought from the vessel. It had appeared mostly empty – there was no cat meowing in the back of his mind – other than its instincts, which were decidedly strong. Then again, it was uncommon for a kitten to have eaten a single burger, let alone enough different types of the food to determine its favourite.

The shower turned off, and Sam offered the kitten a final pet before placing him gently on the ground. Cas meowed, and squeezed between Sam's legs in protest. The hunter chuckled, just as a freshly cleaned Dean appeared.

He scowled at the kitten, moving to the table and shrugging his jacket on. "You haven't forgotten-"

"Yes, I know. He's off to the vet," Sam sighed. "But he's cute, while he lasts."

Dean harrumphed. "That thing's friggin' creepy. I woke up this morning and it was just _staring_ at me."

"Really." Sam seemed amused.

"Yeah. Kinda like Cas does," the hunter said with an affectionate smirk. _Affectionate? _Dean had no reason to feel such emotion, simply at the angel's name. In fact, he was well entitled to the opposite – had he _forgotten_ the fact that the angel despised him?

Perhaps his flying fist had been a little too subtle. Castiel would never understand humans.

* * *

It was seventeen minutes past twelve, judging by the sun's position in the sky when the Winchesters pulled up outside of the _South Weston Veterinarian Clinic_. Castiel watched from his seat in Sam's lap – though, admittedly, with his vessel's short stature it was rather difficult to see anything at all.

His heartbeat began to rise, thrumming like the wings of a hummingbird behind his ribcage. Unconsciously, Castiel sank his claws into Sam's thigh, desperation and anxiety beginning to pool in his chest.

"Ouch," Sam muttered, glancing down at the black kitten. As Dean cut the engine, his brother reached beneath the angel and tried to pry him free of his jeans. "C'mon, little guy," he huffed, exasperated.

Dean shot him an '_I-told-you-that-cat-was-bad-news_' kind of smirk, and got out of the car. Cas felt anger swirl faintly in his stomach, and relaxed his paws, as spitefully as he could. The claws retracted, and Sam tucked the kitten under his arm before joining his brother.

Castiel squirmed, trying to gain a view of the veterinary clinic. Eventually, it appeared from behind Sam's thickly muscled arm. It was bleach-white, modern-looking, and stank of fear. Cas mewled, and his tail lashed back and forth in distress. The younger Winchester petted him absently.

After a moment, they pushed open the door and went inside. The stench became stronger, and Cas almost gagged on the pure, untainted _terror_ of the clinic. His ears twitched, and he focused his hearing on the rooms beyond the one he was in now. A dog sniffed underneath a doorway, their owner waiting patiently for one of the staff to assess their pet. Another, a one-eyed Doberman, stalked back and forth in the yard, snarling his anger to the other animals. Cats waited impatiently, hissing occasionally as their fur bristled in fear.

Inside the waiting room, however, there was no one else but the bored, male attendant whom waited behind the receptionist desk.

"Uh, hey," Dean began.

The man – or boy, Castiel couldn't quite tell – looked up. As soon as he saw Dean, his eyes widened fractionally. Indeed, Cas doubted that the hunter would have noticed – it would take an angel's unique perspective to notice the tiny movement. A moment later and his mouth spread into a grin. "What's up, man? How can I help you guys?"

Suddenly, Castiel and the boy locked gazes. An electric shock rippled through the tiny kitten's body, as his angelic senses took complete control. The images in his mind overlapped each other, forcing the multi-dimensional shapes to form completely, at least for the kitten.

Fluttering gently behind the young man's back, were two, sleek and shimmering gold wings. Then, as his grace seeped further into his vision, the young boy faded, leaving his brother's normal vessel in its place – its physical appearance had obviously been altered – visible only to Castiel. He gasped in surprise. _Gabriel!_

Castiel sunk his claws viciously deep into Sam's skin, and the hunter let out a yelp before accidentally dropping the young kitten. Cas landed clumsily, before scampering behind the reception desk. Gabriel's vessel was wearing skin-tight jeans, and the kitten stretched, trying to sink his claws into the fabric and drag himself upwards. A yowl slipped from his mouth.

"No! Come back here – I'm so sorry," Sam apologized, ducking down to pluck the kitten back into his arms. Castiel's ears flattened, and he swiped at the younger Winchester with his claws. He hissed protectively, but Gabriel covered the noise with a laugh.

"Nah, man, it's cool." The archangel bent down, and scooped the kitten into his arms before straightening once more. He patted Castiel's head absently, and the kitten nuzzled into the touch. _Finally_. His body relaxed, feeling entirely safe in the presence on his big brother. Relief seeped through his body, erasing the stress and anxiety of before. _Of course_ Gabriel would be there. He would _always_ look after his little brother. For once, Castiel's emotions were so strong that he barely noticed as he began to purr. "Man, this guy is cu-ute," Gabriel murmured, drawing out the sound with a grin. He winked at Cas, before lifting his gaze to the Winchesters. "He yours? I'll let you know that we are proud to serve all people, regardless of race, gender, age, or…sexual orientation."

Cas meowed, butting his head against Gabriel's palm. The archangel resumed his stroking, even as Castiel heard the Winchesters groan. As their skin touched, Gabriel's thoughts seeped into his mind.

_Hey, little bro._

_Gabriel! Brother, I beg of you: reverse this transformation!_

"We-we're not like that," Dean stammered, laughing awkwardly. He gestured between the pair. "We're _brothers_."

_No can do, Cassie. C'mon, it can't be _that_ bad._

That stumped the young angel. To be perfectly honest, the experience wasn't entirely awful. _That's beside the point_, he whined_, the Winchesters do not wish for my presence, even in this form._

"Oh." Gabriel blinked, as though genuinely surprised. Then he grinned brilliantly. "But I guess you guys must get that all the time, huh?" The Winchesters exchanged glances, but the angel bulldozed over them both. "Anyway, what can I do for you?"

Sam shook his head, seemingly needing the physical action to re-focus his thoughts. He looked to Dean, whom answered for the pair. "Well, you guys take animals to be adopted, right? That little guy" – he pointed at Cas – "is all yours."

Gabriel lifted the kitten to eyelevel, seemingly assessing him. _Psh. I bet they love you like this._

_Gabriel… _The kitten's vivid blue eyes widened, turning immeasurably sad.

_Nuh-uh. You can't pull that on me, Cassie. I _invented_ that look._

Well, Castiel could hardly deny it. Still, he huffed. _Please, brother._

_Nope. I'm helping you. Besides, what's to worry about? You _know_ that I'd never let anything bad happen to you, when you're like this, right?_

"Sorry, no can do," the angel answered brightly, and lowered the kitten to the desk in front of the Winchesters. He smiled widely.

_Exactly! _You_ must help me. I cannot help myself. I… I am cut off from my grace. Why, Gabriel? It renders me useless!_

_Well, I could hardly risk you turning yourself back, now could I? 'Sides, it's not like you're completely without your juice. And the Winchesters can take good care of you. Cassie, trust me. This is all for the better._

"What do you mean, 'no can do'? This is a vet clinic!" Dean growled, leaning forward over the desk. It was, most likely, a move meant to intimidate the young man before him.

Though, little did he know that the 'young man' in this case was currently inhabited by the fourth-oldest angel in existence. Plus, if he hadn't bowed to Lucifer or Michael… well, Dean Winchester was hardly likely to sway him. "We don't have room," Gabriel informed him. "Besides, I wouldn't dare take him away from you guys. Look at him! I bet you couldn't leave him here, even if you tried."

_Subtle._

_Thanks, bro._

"Look. We have places to be, and people to see. We don't have time to take care of a kitten, okay? You just have to deal."

"Actually," Gabriel began, leveling a flat stare towards the two brothers, "_you_ just have to deal. Your kitten, not mine."

"But-"

"You're going to be late," Gabriel said flatly. When they raised their eyebrows, he grinned. "Places to be, people to see, right?"

Sam cut in for his brother, settling his forearms on the desk as he gazed determinedly at the archangel. "Look, man, we can't take care of a kitten. Our… job," he said, casting an uneasy glance towards his brother, "means that we're constantly on the road. It doesn't exactly pay well, either. We just don't have the time, or resources, to look after this little guy."

Gabriel seemed to acknowledge the point with a tip of his head to the side. Castiel meowed softly, and stretched with his right paw to tap at his brother's hand. _Brother, they do not lie. I am a hindrance in this form. Change me back, please._

The archangel shook his head minutely. _Sorry, bro. But you just have to trust me._

"Listen, I really can't do anything for you guys. But, if you really don't have the 'resources', I can help you with that," the archangel said, struggling to hold back a giggle.

The Winchesters exchanged confused glances. Dean raised an eyebrow, and asked, "What exactly do you mean?"

In answer, Gabriel simply grinned.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__Here's Chapter Two! I hope you guys enjoyed :) It's going up a few days early, because you guys are so amazing, and I was not expecting so much interest in this, especially after just one chapter. Thank you to all whom added this to their favourites and/or alert lists, with special thanks to nathyfaithy, SkittleMachine, OnyxDay, WhalesEverywhere, and chatnoir1 for their wonderful reviews. All of you guys are awesome!_


	3. Familiar Faces and Worn Out Places

**Familiar Faces and Worn-Out Places **

_"You have made the cat angry. You do not want to make the cat angry!" – 'Puss In Boots'_

* * *

"Oh, my _God,_ would you make that thing _shut up?!_" Dean yelled, over the noise of the Impala's engine, the music that he'd picked, and – most prominently – the cat yowling in the back seat.

"I'm trying!" Sammy insisted, twisting in his seat to look at the kitten. "C'mon, little guy, give it a rest, would you? Please?" he added desperately.

The kitten hissed, hooking its claws through the bars of the travel cage that the vet assistant had given them, and tried to rip through the metal. Through the bars, Dean could see that its ears were flat against his head, its fur standing on end and its white fangs gleaming as it spat. Inside his wide blue eyes, the kitten's pupils were constracted. Dean knew enough about cat behavior to know that it was really, fucking angry. "_Jesus Christ_," he muttered, turning back to face the road.

Sam made a helpless noise in the back of his throat. "Dean," he groaned, "what do we _do_?"

Oddly, Dean felt his stomach curl in satisfaction. Ha! He was right. "I told you," he said smugly, "should never taken this cat in."

In the backseat, the kitten snarled, and raked its claws down the metal bars, producing an unholy shriek of complaint from the cage. Dean winced at the noise, and glanced in the rearview mirror. And damn him if that kitten didn't look as smug as hell.

Sam sighed, and suddenly stretched over the seat. He hooked one hand under the cage and lifted it effortlessly through the car, before balancing it on the seat between them. He peered through the bars as the kitten quieted somewhat. "There, little guy, is that better?" Suddenly, his eyes widened. "Dude, not cool."

"What'd he do?" Dean questioned, glancing at his little brother.

Sam sighed, and settled back against his seat with a thump. "Ripped up all bedding that guy put in there," he groaned.

Dean rapped on the top of the cage with his knuckles. "Stupid cat," he rumbled with a laugh. "That was your bed. Guess you'll be sleeping on the cold, hard ground."

Unexpectedly, Sam smiled. "You mean, he's staying?"

"What? No. No, no, no. I just meant tonight, you know."

Sam scowled half-heartedly, before his lips twisted into a smile. "Sure, sure," he muttered, and rested his head against the window.

For a long moment, there was blessed silence – other than the rumble of the Impala's engine, and the Metallica song that Dean had almost forgotten was playing. Then, Dean heard something ripping. He glanced down.

"Oh, _hell no!_" His hand flew from the wheel, wrapping around the handle of the cage and yanking it away from his seat. The kitten's claws were ripped savagely out of his leather seating – the one that the damn thing had been slowly and deliberately clawing through. He slammed the cage down on Sam's lap. "Do something!"

His brother's eyes flew open, and he began to laugh as he took in the scene. The two small rips in the leather, the cage shoved onto his lap, and most importantly, the indignant rage on his brother's face. Sam lifted the cage, staring at the black and blue kitten. "You're the best," he laughed.

"Don't encourage him, Sammy," his brother near-growled. "He better not claw up my seats ever again."

Sam considered the kitten for a long moment, before his fingers moved swiftly and he unlocked the cage. The metal door swung open, and the kitten slid out. The black, furry mess flumped onto his lap with a thankful mewl.

"What are you doing?!" Dean yelled. "It's gonna tear up my car!"

Sam shushed him. "I don't know. It wasn't 'tearing up' your car before, so maybe it just hates the cage. Some cats don't like to be trapped like that."

Dean bit back a sarcastic remark, instead glancing down at the kitten. True to Sam's word, it had settled down in seconds, and was now curled into a small ball. Sam stroked its fur absently, gazing through the window at the scenery that sped by in a multi-coloured blur.

"Huh," was all he said.

* * *

Eventually, the low rumble that had played in the back of Castiel's hearing for what seemed like eternity faded. The kitten did not open his eyes, though his ears flicked, as the gear stick was cranked into position and the Impala slowed to a stop. Sam shifted, restless, beneath his slumbering body and Cas guessed that the gigantic man was desperate to shake out his legs. The Winchesters had been cooped up in the small car for the better part of two days.

"-put him back in the cage?" Cas' eyes flew open and he hissed.

Sam smirked, and muttered, "Guess not." The younger Winchester shifted the kitten to one hand – Cas was only slightly bigger than it, anyway – and slid easily out of the Impala. He gently placed Castiel on the ground, and moved to grab their bags out of the trunk.

Cas sniffed, flicking his tail at the bombardment of new scents. The sharp, clean grass; the rich, steady earth; the crispness of the wind as it trailed enticingly along his nose. Castiel padded forward quietly, feeling the dirt shift beneath his weight, when another scent caught his attention. Was that… alcohol?

"Oi, get that kitten before he runs off somewhere," came Dean's gruff voice. Castiel turned, and trotted towards the Winchesters. The men were holding duffel bags full of their clothes, with one more addition – the bag of 'resources' Gabriel had given them.

Castiel wrinkled his nose at the thought. His brother had supplied the Winchesters with a cat bed, travel cage, blanket, food and water bowl, toys, a collar that thankfully remained unused, and several other things that Gabriel had hidden from his view. Castiel almost didn't want to think about what they could possibly be.

But while the Winchesters had been packing the small bag into the trunk of the Impala, Gabriel had watched with one hand on top of his brother's head, communicating silently. Though Castiel had begged him continuously to reverse the spell, the archangel had declined. It was only when Cas had complained of the unexpected strength of the kitten's instincts that Gabriel had smiled.

_Oh yeah, sorry 'bout that. Forgot to mention it to you._

Castiel had flicked his tail in annoyance. _Why did you strengthen my instincts? It is considerably frustrating._

Gabriel had shrugged at the question, shaking his head minutely. _I didn't. You've never used an animal as a vessel before, have you?_

_No. _Castiel had only ever inhabited humans, and only when he absolutely had to, choosing instead to remain as a multi-dimensional wavelength of celestial intent. Jimmy Novak had been his longest-inhabited vessel.

Gabriel had sighed. _Well, long story short, since animals don't have the same awareness, they rely more on instincts to guide them. They're not stronger, per se, just with less brainpower to combat them._

That had made sense. Castiel remembered sighing, and burying his face into his brother's side. Soon, his relaxation would fade, as the Winchesters and he drove away – to only they knew where. Castiel would miss the reassurance of his brother's company. _Still, you could have adjusted them. You still can. Please, brother. _

The thoughts came just as a purr had slipped from his throat. Castiel considered cutting the sound off, but then reconsidered. It was reassuring, and the sensation was… nice. Gabriel had chuckled. _Nah. I like you more like this._

Lost in thought, Castiel padded forward on silent and dusty paws. The Winchesters moved just ahead of him, blocking his vision. It was only as the kitten stepped onto the wooden patio that he recognized the place. The _Roadhouse_.

Dean shouldered through the door, which flew open and banged against the wall. "Ellen! Jo! Ash!" he yelled, dropping his bags to the right. Sam followed him, and did the same, holding the door open with his heel. Cas slipped in, brushing against the younger Winchester's denim-clad leg.

"I shoulda known that only you two would make this much noise." A woman rounded the counter, beaming. Smooth brown hair brushed just past her shoulders, with matching eyes that were crinkled in delight. Castiel remembered her: Ellen Harvelle.

She embraced the two Winchesters just as Jo and Ash appeared. The latter looked like he'd just woken up; his eyes were bloodshot and his mullet ragged. His shirt appeared stained, though Castiel thought it might have been the lighting.

It was only once the tedious human greetings were accomplished – though, Castiel admitted it was much preferable to that of the cherubs – that they noticed Castiel. He had been crouching behind Sam's leg, ears flicked back in what was most _definitely_ not fright. Jo raised an eyebrow. "And who's this little guy?" she questioned.

"Oh. Uh," Dean began, spinning to glance at the angel, "that… that's a kitten."

Jo rolled her eyes and smiled. "Wonders never cease. I didn't think you knew what a kitten was," she laughed, crouching down. Cas watched her distrustfully, but then the girl extended a hand. He ducked his head, and she ran her palm lightly down his back. "He's cute," she murmured, as the angel pressed into her touch. Cas trotted out from Sam's shadow, and the girl laughed, wrapping her hands around his stomach and lifting him to her chest. She stood a moment later.

As she spoke, something swirled in Castiel's mind. He remembered Jo… her voice was familiar, as was her companionship. But Castiel had never met the young Harvelle, more than the odd time when he had come to talk to the Winchesters and found them at this bar. Or had he? Castiel felt suddenly detached.

"So, what's his name?" Jo asked, stroking behind the kitten's ears. He momentarily forgot his troubles, butting his head against her as a request for more. She obliged happily.

"Um, actually, we don't know," Sam began. He shrugged. "He's not ours."

"Really. What's all that, then?" Ellen pointed behind the two boys, to the bag packed full of Kitten Caring 101.

"I dunno, the guy at the vet gave it to us…" Dean cleared his throat, suddenly aware of their raised eyebrows. "Look, we found it sleeping in our car, so we kept it with us for a night and tried to take it to the vet the next morning. They couldn't take it, and we couldn't stop, so we took it with us. Problem?"

"What if it's a pet?" Jo asked immediately, glancing with worried eyes towards Castiel. His own blue irises rolled in response, though he doubted that the human understood the familiar gesture on such an unfamiliar face.

Sam faltered, as though the idea hadn't occurred to him. "Oh."

His brother, though, simply shrugged. "Yeah, well, I'm not driving back another state to return him. He was running around a bar, for God's sake. Doubt that there's a family looking for him. If I had to bet, I'd say he's homeless."

Castiel bristled at the thought. He _had_ a home – just one that wasn't open to him, at the moment. And he _had_ a family! A loving one, a caring one – one that he could hear at all hours of the day. Even now, if he strained hard enough, pulled on enough of his grace, Castiel could grab snatches of words.

_Oh_. So perhaps he was momentarily homeless, and family-less, after all. But only momentarily.

He settled back into Jo's arms, but the hunters had lost interest in him. Dean turned to Ash. "So, what was this hunt you were so urgent about?"

That shocked the genius into action. "Wha-oh, oh yeah. Look here," he said, and reached behind the bar, lifting his homemade computer onto the wooden surface. The Winchesters exchanged a grim look, as his next words confirmed what they had, no doubt, expected. "I got a bunch of hits. There's demonic signs firing up near here, just a couple towns over."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Dean questioned grimly, half-rising off of the barstool.

But Ellen pushed him back firmly, almost effortlessly. "Oh, no you don't," she said, glancing between the pair. "You boys have driven nearly non-stop for two days to get here. I'm not letting you go anywhere, without _at least_ one good night's sleep. If you're facing up against demons, you'll need it."

Sam bit back a smile, and nodded. Dean glanced at his younger brother and, seeing the acceptance already there, groaned. "But Ellen, people could die-"

"Don't you pull that one on me, Winchester," she began firmly. "No one's gonna die tonight, I assure you. They're just settlin' in. But if you two head out there now, I can promise you that you _will _die. So sit your ass back on that seat, boy."

Dean relented with a huff, and settled back on his bar stool. "Fine," he said. Then, after a long moment, he glanced around at the empty _Roadhouse_. "When's rush hour for this place, anyway?"

Jo glanced at the clock hanging lopsidedly on the wall. "In a couple of hours," She informed him with a smile. "Why? Wanna help out?"

"Sure," the Winchesters synchronized.

"Good. You two can shove your stuff in our spare room, claim your beds, and set up some place for that kitten to sleep. Can't be anywhere near me, mind you. My allergies play up at night," Ash informed them solemnly.

"Huh." Sam turned to face his brother. "Actually, Dean's usually sneezing all over the place when he's near a cat, too."

"Oh yeah," the man replied, looking faintly surprised. "I almost forgot. That's weird."

"Maybe he's one of those cats with the special fur," Ellen supplied, though she looked a little confused. "Hypoallergenic ones."

"Doesn't look like it," Sam frowned. "He's too… fluffy."

Castiel averted his gaze, as though he'd be safe from their scrutiny as long as he couldn't see them.

Eventually, talk turned to less strange matters. The hours spun past with disorientating speed, and soon Castiel was sleeping at the foot of Sam's bed. The Winchesters had left Gabriel's gift in the back of the car, and so he curled up right next to where the younger Winchester's feet nearly hung off the end.

When he woke up the next morning, the Winchesters were gone.

* * *

Castiel rose slowly to consciousness, blinking in the dim light. The sheets beneath his folded body were still warm, and his tail flicked behind him, reaching to curl reassuringly around Sam's ankle.

But there is nothing there; only the absence of the younger Winchester's body heat.

Castiel snaps upright so fast that he slides off of the end of the bed, crashing with a muffled _thump_ to the floor. His legs tangle beneath him, preventing the angel from rushing out the door as soon as he can stand. Eventually, he digs his claws into the soft wood and stands. The bedroom door is left open a crack; he noses into it, twisting his neck and shoving with all his delicate, kitten might. It creaks open, and Cas races through.

From his memories of last night, Castiel can traverse the _Roadhouse_ with ease. He dashes down the hallway, claws clattering, until the bar comes into sight.

Ellen is wiping down part of the wooden surface, smiling and making friendly conversation with a brown-haired man that Castiel first thinks is Dean. But then the man shifts, and Castiel sees the brown eyes, the hooked nose, and the absence of freckles. He ignores the surprising, sudden stab of disappointment and continues to search for them. Jo is placing a heaped plate in front of a dark-skinned, dark-haired man, her mouth creased in a forced smile. Ash is nowhere to be seen, and neither are the Winchesters.

Castiel remembers the way that Jo had welcomed him when he had first arrived, and quickly decides that she is his best chance to discover where the Winchesters have gone. He patters along the floor, ignoring the raised eyebrows from more than one customer, before tapping at her foot with his paw. Jo glanced down, her smile easing into a very real grin as she spotted him.

"Hey, kitty," she said, nudging him with the toe of her boot. Jo glanced back towards the man. "I'll be back with that coffee in just a second, Gordon."

Gordon leans onto his forearms, staring at the cat. "New pet?" he asks slowly.

Jo shrugs. "Kinda, I guess. Someone brought him in, and we're just looking after him until they get back."

Castiel feels dim surprise register in his mind as he realizes that she purposely neglected to mention that the Winchesters brought him in. He also notices the implication that they are gone.

Despite the fact that he is an angel, perfectly capable of fending for himself, Castiel feels the beginnings of anxiety thrum in his chest.

"Huh." Gordon stares at the cat for a moment longer, eyes shrewd, and then his attention flips back to Jo. "I'd keep him in a cage, if I were you. Don't want him running off, now do we?"

Before Jo can respond, Cas hisses at the man. His ears flicked back, his white fangs sharp between his gums, and his fur bristled at the suggestion. His claws slide out again, almost unconsciously, and he was careful not to dig them into Jo's skin.

Jo quirks an eyebrow, and he can almost feel her puzzlement. "I, uh, guess he doesn't like cages," she says, trying for an amused laugh.

Gordon raises his eyebrows too, but says no more. Jo taps Cas with her boot, reassures the man that his "coffee will only take a moment", and waltzes behind the bar. Castiel follows, flicking his tail in disgust as he passes Gordon.

Ellen and Jo exchange few words, though their conversation is relaxed. Castiel gathers that this is the first "breakfast" rush, and that most of the hunters will have cleared out before the next hour is up. Jo mentions Cas' "odd" reaction to the mention of the cage, and Ellen simply chuckles before telling her that they'll ask Sam and Dean about it when they get back.

There it was, again. _When they get back_. But where have they gone?

Castiel squeezes between Jo's ankles, rubbing the top of his head against her leg. _Sam. Dean. Where have they gone?_ His mental cry is filled with frustration, and he hisses angrily.

Jo looks down. Castiel knows that, because his grace is so limited, there is no possible way that she could have heard him. But that doesn't diminish the flicker of hope in his chest, or the flash of annoyance when she doesn't react. "Damn, this guy's feistier than he seems."

"Wonder what's got his tail in a twist," Ellen chuckles, and Jo laughs before preparing to brew the promised coffee.

"Let's just hope they get back here soon tonight, before he starts clawing," Jo muses, sending a final smile towards the kitten.

Castiel's curiosity is instantly sated, and he dips his furry head before moving to the corner between two of the shut cupboards. He curls into a ball, resting his chin on his paws. The wood beneath his stomach is cool, but he knows that his body heat will warm it soon. His tail flicks occasionally, but other than that the kitten is still, listening to the conversations of the room but not bothering to take catalogue of any of them.

Castiel is so still, so silent, for so long, that his mind begins to wander into the odd half-state between sleep and wakefulness. His eyes begin to close, though he is careful not to slip entirely into the beckoning darkness. Time flickers past in brief spurts, interrupted by the occasional slam of a door or note of laughter.

Castiel barely notices when the sky outside turns dark, on the fifth night of his time as a kitten. It has almost been a week, the angel muses, since he had occupied a human vessel. The thought is odd, neither positive nor negative, and he shuffles it to the back of his mind.

But Castiel does notice when the signature rumble of a familiar car cuts to a stop outside of the diner. He blinks, slowly, unwilling to get up and greet the Winchesters. But his decision is made when the door of the _Roadhouse _is thrown open, crashing with a loud bang against the door. Sam's yell is filled with desperation, and his voice cracks. "Ellen! Jo! Help!"

Cas leaps to his feet, racing around the bar so fast that he skids on the worn floorboards. Castiel only just manages to catch himself before he falls in an uncoordinated pile of fur.

But as soon as he catches sight of the Winchesters, anger nearly blinds his vision. No, not anger – pure, barely restrained _rage_, that beats against his ribcage and chokes his throat. Castiel should have known. Of _course_ the Winchesters had gone on a hunt – perhaps the same demon hunt that Ash had proposed the previous night.

But that doesn't matter. They should have taken Castiel – they should have roused the slumbering kitten. He may not have full power over his grace, but he has _some_ and the fact remains that, despite the vessel, Castiel is an angel. He- he could have done something, _anything._

Anything to prevent what had so clearly occurred in the angel's absence. Dean hung from Sam, his arm thrown carelessly around his younger brother's shoulder. Blood streaks down his chest, over his pants, and his shirt was ripped and torn. One leg is held at an odd angle, off of the ground. His eyelids are closed, hiding the green pupils behind them, and his head lolls onto his shoulder.

Castiel should have known.

* * *

**_Author's Note: _**_And here is Chapter Three! It's a day late, and I'm sorry! In case any of you were wondering, I'm going to aim for updating every Tuesday (my time). Anyway, I cannot express how much I love all of you guys for showing interest in this. It never fails to put a smile on my face. Thank you to all whom have this story on their favourites and/or alert list, with special thanks to SkittleMachine, WhalesEverywhere, Cariboucapecod, OnyxDay, nathyfaithy, LilGreenearth97, Logged Out, chatnoir1, and Guest for their awesome reviews! :)_

_Also, just a heads up... next chapter's going to have some fun little action and just a teeny, tiny teaspoon of angst. :)_


	4. Ain't No Party Trick

**Ain't No Party Trick**

_"The wound is the place Light entered you." - Rumi_

* * *

From the moment the Winchesters had arrived, the _Roadhouse_ had turned into a flurry of activity.

It was only dumb luck that had caused Ellen to close the bar down an hour before usual – she'd claimed a migraine at the time – which meant that Sam could drag his barely-conscious brother through their premise. Ellen and Jo launched their frenzied interrogation as Sam shouldered his way into their spare room, gently laying his brother down onto his bed. Castiel flattened his ears against Dean's pained groan.

Ash came up behind the two women, and began to explain in clipped sentences as Sam started cutting open Dean's shirt. It was wet and sticky where it clung to his wounds, and made an odd sound as it was peeled away. Beneath, Cas could clearly see claw marks, and the odd bruise or two. Dean's breathing was shallow, his jaw clenched – no doubt against a cry of pain. He shut his eyes briefly as Sam spoke to him, and then nodded briefly.

"It was demons," Ash confirmed. "I was running centre command" – Cas took that to mean that he must have been safely locked in the car, keeping an eye on the demons through hacked video cameras for Sam and Dean – "and I never saw them coming. They must have… I don't know. I have no idea how they did it," he admitted quietly. How torturous, Castiel thought, for such a bright man to have none of the answers.

"I'm dying," Dean moaned, turning his head to the side. His eyes were a little glazed. "It hurts like a bitch."

"Shut up," Sam said, though not unkindly. "You'll be fine."

Jo disappeared as the Winchesters conversed, reappearing a moment later with a first aid kit. She offered it silently to Ellen, whom obviously had a hell of a lot more practice at sewing stitches than she did. Sam started to protest, but a sharp intake of breath from his brother had him quickly turning his attention back to Dean. The older Winchester was struggling to maintain his composure, breathing through gritted teeth. "Let's get this over with," he said grimly.

Cas skittered around Ash's ankles, watching worriedly as Ellen advanced on his helpless friend. His protective instincts were rising in his chest, pushing against the constraints of his ribcage. Edging closer to the bed, his ears flicked down as his lips peeled back, though he held back the angry hiss bubbling in his throat.

But when Ellen pulled out the sharp, shining needle – to _stab_ Dean with, Castiel might add – he lost it.

Fabric ripped under his claws as Cas scrambled up the bed. As soon as he was ready, the angel pounced between the woman and his hunter, hissing wildly. Black fur along his spine stood on end, and as the weapon dipped lower, Castiel batted at it angrily with his paw.

Dean was _his_. _Castiel's_. His to protect, to heal, to tear apart and build up again. No one – human or angel – could do any of those things as well as he could.

Or perhaps they could, because Cas felt a spike of pain slide between the pads on his paw, and his hiss slid to a yowl. He yanked it back savagely, almost tumbling head over heels in his need to get away. But the pain didn't disappear – if anything, it rolled with him and sank its teeth further into his skin. His surprise and shock turned to anger – how _dare_ it, a human toothpick, injure him? – and he scratched wildly at the air. So caught up was the angel in his bid to free himself, that he barely noticed as he fell off of the bed.

It was too short of a fall to right himself properly – Cas tumbled to the floor on his side, barely pausing to assess himself for injury. His back paws twisted, struggling to get a grip on the _thing_ and yank it free of his body.

Around him, there were small cries of shock and anger. Large hands gripped his side, forcing Castiel to stay still. He squirmed against the grip, struggling to rake his claws along the forearms of his attacker, but the kitten was restrained and could not reach.

"Geez, calm down!" Sam's words reached him abruptly, and the angel stilled. Shame burned through him, sharp and hot, as he realized that, once again, his instincts had taken control of him. Castiel buried his face into the floor, and Sam took a firm grip on the needle and slid it free of his right paw. The angel didn't react with even so much as a twitch of his tail.

But it didn't last long. Sam consoled him with a quick pat on his head, before Ellen muttered something, more than a little annoyed, as she selected another needle to thread. They could hardly use the one covered with the angel's blood. Curiosity got the better of him, and he once again clawed his way up the bedspread, curling himself into an unblinking, impassive ball.

Ellen shot him a disapproving look, and Cas hissed at her, ignoring his quickly heating cheeks. Maybe he was having trouble controlling his inner kitten – a phrase he was sure that Dean would've found hilarious until his dying day – but that didn't mean that she could _judge_ him for it. Castiel was an angel of the Lord, and he deserved her respect.

After a short moment, Ellen gestured to Sam. "Get that cat outta here," she said firmly. "He's not gonna go screwing this up again on my watch."

How dare she! Cas hissed again, flattening his ears and bristling his fur until he was the very picture of aggression. But he quieted when Sam's large, gentle hands wrapped around his middle. "Sure thing," the Winchester said quietly. "Just… let's sew Dean up, shall we?" His voice was steady, betraying none of the anxiety that he must feel.

Oh. _Of course_.

Castiel hadn't realized it, but Sam was probably panicking on the inside. The last time he'd seen his brother's stomach shredded like that… well, the Righteous Man's soul had finally found the place it had been destined to end up in. The claw marks may not have been caused by a Hellhound – this time – but Sam was sure to be having some unfortunate flashbacks.

Cas buried his head in the crook of Sam's elbow, purring comfortingly. His grace _pulsed_ with the urge, the desire to bleed through of his chest and into Sam almost bowling him over. Curious, Cas took a deep breath, separating his grace into two parts, focused his mind, and _pushed. _

The process was slow. Castiel hung with hooked claws onto Sam's plaid over-shirt, grimly determined. The sensation was not unlike using an injection needle – he was depressing the plunger on his grace, which seemed thicker and denser to use than it ever had before, and forcing it free of his very pores. It took longer – way longer than the angel was ever used to – before he felt it brush against Sam's mind.

He didn't know if it worked. The touch was too weak, too insignificant, for the hunter to even recognize it. But what he did know was that Sam relaxed, and when Cas spun around after being placed on the ground outside of the door, he caught a glimpse of Sam's softer, more reassured features.

It took a moment before Castiel registered exactly what that meant.

Gabriel. His brother, the archangel, had not left him entirely helpless. Was it on purpose, or had he been careless? Cas didn't know; didn't entirely care. It no longer mattered. What did matter, however, was that now, he could _use _it.

He raked his claws down the closed wooden door, yowling like his tail had caught alight. But it seemed like hours before Castiel was once again let back into the room. Ellen shot him a warning look, and he cowered to the floor – a clear sign of submission. He wasn't going to make trouble – in fact, he now had a faint idea of how to end it.

Cas wasn't quite sure how, but he was determined to heal Dean.

Ellen left the room, muttering something about cleaning up. Sam let her go with a tight smile and word of thanks. But the woman hesitated, glancing at Dean. "You're both welcome to stay here as long as you need," she said generously.

"Thanks, Ellen. But I don't know. I'll try and get a hold of Cas, see if he'll come down," Sam admitted. "He's probably busy… but he'll come for Dean."

Castiel narrowed his eyes. He was an angel, not some dog to come when he was called. Never mind the fact that he was fully intending to heal Dean, anyway, without being asked.

But Ellen nodded, told Sam there was food if he wanted it – to which he politely declined for the moment – and swept into the hallway. Once she was gone, Sam's strength faded. He sank slowly onto a corner of Dean's bed, rubbing tiredly at his face. Cas slunk forward, wrapping his tail around the younger brother's ankle and pressing his face into his leg. It wasn't much, but it was the only comfort Castiel could give.

Sam took a shuddering breath. "Castiel, I know that you're probably busy… but I know that you're listening." And he was, too, his ears pricked and attentive. The prayer whispered along the edges of his limited grace, echoing in his mind. "But we were on a hunt, and Dean got hurt. It's… it's pretty bad, Cas. He's all clawed up, and-" Sam forced himself to stop, to regain control of his breaking voice. "We need you, Cas. Please."

"Amen to that," another voice murmured dryly. Sam cracked open an eyelid, and smiled slightly.

"Ellen stitched you up," he explained as Dean's hand found the bandages across his middle. "But-"

"You were hoping Cas could pop in and fix me up," Dean finished. Sam's shoulder lifted in a small shrug. Both pairs of eyes glanced around the room. "So where is he?

Castiel felt slightly indignant again. What right did they have – Dean, especially – to expect his assistance in such trivial matters? As though he did not have other, far more dangerous concerns.

"Don't know," Sam answered after a long moment. Dean groaned, and dropped his head back onto the pillow as Sam continued. "Guess we'll just have to wait and see if he turns up."

Castiel, finally, brushed his feelings aside. But Sam and Dean looked so disappointed that he meowed, pawing at Sam. He was right _there_. Castiel had not abandoned them, was not ignoring their prayers. He was _there_, within reach.

Sam sighed absently, and reached down to pull Castiel into his lap. He scratched behind the kitten's ear, and Cas closed his eyes against the sudden wave of comforting pleasure. He began to purr, and Sam chuckled quietly. "Are you hungry?" he asked his older brother. "Ellen saved us a few leftovers."

"Nah," Dean mumbled. He waved a hand dismissively, "But you go ahead. I've seen how much you need to eat, and you've barely had a thing all day. Get me some water, though, will ya?" Dean added, as though realizing how dry and rough his throat sounded.

Sam stood, letting Castiel slide gently onto the covers. "Sure," was his only word before closing the door behind him, casting a final concerned glance towards his brother.

As soon as Sam left the room, Dean's breathing grew uneven and shallow as he grunted with pain. He kept a hand over his bandages, no doubt hoping that some pressure could help to dull the pain.

Sam was gone for a long time, and Cas guessed that he was giving the Harvelles a full report of what had occurred. To be honest, Castiel was curious as to what had transpired, but with no way to open the door or communicate with Dean, he was trapped. Soon, though, Dean's breathing evened out, and he slipped into untroubled dreams.

Castiel probed at the well of grace inside his chest. He gathered it uncertainly – was it enough? Would he drain himself completely? – and tried to pull more from the vast reserves that Gabriel had so cleverly locked away from him. The attempt was largely unsuccessful, and Castiel surrendered with an annoyed sigh.

He needed, somehow, to push that power into Dean. But how?

Fortunately, Castiel knew of one place, at least, where the transferal would be easiest. He prowled towards the head of the bed, trying not to catch his claws in the smooth fabric of the sheets. Eventually, though, he paused beside Dean's head, settling back onto his haunches as he considered the sleeping man. Dean took up most of the bed, and Castiel was forced to perch uncomfortably on the very edge.

Would Dean awake? Castiel hoped so – if Sam and Dean knew him in this form, they could get him out of it much faster. Then again, would it even _work?_

Well, no time like the present to find out. Castiel tipped his head to the side, and extended a clawed paw. It sank firmly into the flesh of his shoulder, Castiel's tiny paw dwarfed by the red brand his hand had once formed, though Dean did not stir. For better or worse, the older Winchester was almost entirely dead to the world. But for now, that didn't matter. Castiel took a firm grip on his grace – his _essence_, his _power_, his _core_ – and forced it into Dean's body.

He felt it immediately, burning with fierce intensity through the hunter's body. It was reluctant to leave him, but Castiel was determined. He felt as his grace wrapped comfortingly around Dean's clawed stomach, knitting the skin together as though it had never parted. Muscles flowed together, tissues rewove themselves, and Castiel briefly felt the sweet taste of triumph on his tongue.

Then, blackness rushed towards him, enveloping him in mind-numbing coldness. Castiel slipped backwards, barely aware of the world rushing past until his vessel collided with the wooden floor. Pain rippled through his back, though it was soon dulled by shock.

None of that, however, compared to Dean. As the fire in his limbs disappeared, the hunter was thrown abruptly into consciousness. His hand flew to his abdomen as he launched upwards, and he peered into the darkness. Castiel held his breath. The darkness wrapped around his mind, crushing his waking thoughts and forcing him to unconsciousness. However, he was alert enough to catch Dean's one, final word:

"Cas?"

* * *

**_Author's Note: _**_And... scene! :) Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter - I am terribly sorry for it being so late. Originally, I had this chapter and the next as one chapter, but then I realized that it was taking too long, and would work better as two separate pieces. As such, the angst and action have both been moved to the next update... but trust me, both are worth it. :)_

_Once again, I cannot express how much it means to me that you are all showing such interest in this. It makes me incredibly happy to know that you guys are enjoying the ride just as much as I am. So, a huge thank you to all whom have included this story on their alerts and favourites lists, and especially to those whom have taken the time to leave a review. You guys are absolutely wonderful! :)_


	5. It's A Matter of Pride Between You and I

**It's A Matter of Pride Between You and I**

_"It was pride that changed angels into devils; it is humility that makes men as angels." – Saint Augustine_

* * *

_Light_.

That was the first thought that appeared in Castiel's hazy, barely conscious mind. Bright flashes pierced his eyelids, echoing in his retinas. But the kitten was stubborn, refusing to wake.

Until, that was, somebody stepped on his tail.

A jolt of pain spiked up his spine, eliciting a shocked yowl. Castiel shot at once to his feet, tumbling nearly head over heels as the pressure alleviated, a mumbled "Damn, sorry", barely registering in his ears. Cas spun so fast that he tripped over his own paws, falling into an ungraceful pile on the floor.

A bare pair of feet stood solidly on the floorboards before him, and Cas let his gaze trail upwards until he was glowering at Dean's face. His tail whipped unhappily, and the angel barely restrained himself from hissing.

As it was, the Winchester seemed completely oblivious. His hand ran distractingly over his own stomach, pressing uncertainly against the newly-healed skin. Green eyes flashed around the room, narrowed in worry. "Cas!" he yelled, struggling to keep his voice steady. "_Castiel!_"

"Dean!" The bedroom door flew open, crashing into the opposite wall. Sam's outline was poised in the doorway, a knife held tightly in his grip. He visibly relaxed, however, when his gaze fell on his brother. "Dean, what the hell are you doing?"

The older Winchester ignored his brother, though he did lower his voice. "Cas!" he hissed. "Where are you, man?"

"Dean," Sam interrupted, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. "You shouldn't be moving, that has to hurt-"

"It doesn't," he replied absently, stepping around his brother. Sam made a disgruntled noise of protest, and held him back.

"Get back in the bed, Dean."

"I'm _fine_," the hunter insisted. At Sam's light scoff, he exhaled loudly and lifted the bottom of his shirt, peeling the bandage away with savage efficiency. "See? I'm all healed."

"But, if you're healed..." Sam's thoughts seemed to be travelling down the direct roads that his brother's had just been on. Dean inclined his head, body language shouting '_Exactly!_' and then stepped into the hall.

Sam waited a moment before following. "Cas?" he offered, uncertain.

Unsurprisingly, there was no answer.

Only, there _was_ – but the Winchesters were too blind to see it. Castiel struggled to his feet, shouting, "_Sam! Dean!_" But the words, of course, came out as an indignant meow.

Cas bounded forward, ignoring the twinge of pain as he flicked his tail. The Winchesters had left the door partially open, and the kitten slunk through the gap with ease. His ears were immediately met with a clamour of voices – though Dean's was, surprisingly, absent from the cacophony.

"Dean, what were you doing?"

"Were you calling _Cas_?"

"He was. That's not the point-"

"Well, next time keep your voice down, boy. Nearly blew out my other eardrum-"

Castiel rounded the corner, spotting the group immediately. Ash was seated at the bar, facing the two Harvelles. Sam stood before them, facing their interrogation with calm steadiness. Dean, however, was pacing back and forth, running his hands agitatedly through his hair. He looked so pitifully lost, that Castiel had to tamp down on the sudden urge to reach out, grab his hand and _pull_ him forcefully from their grip, rocketing the surface with a battle cry that screamed, "_Dean Winchester is saved!_"

Cas shook his head, freeing his mind from the memories. It did no good to dwell on the past.

When Dean turned around, Ellen was watching him expectantly. Jo smiled sympathetically, sliding him a beer that he accepted thankfully. "He was here," the hunter supplied flatly. His voice held no emotion, no inflection, and Castiel didn't like it. He wanted to go forward, to brush against the hunter's leg and command him to feel his presence – to _know_ that Castiel was _right there_. But at the same time, the scene felt too private for him to intrude upon, like something the angel should not be witnessing. Anger and desperation hung thickly around the older Winchester, and his vessel cowered instinctively against the wall under the weight of its oppression.

"But I left you alone for like, half an hour," Sam insisted. "Why would he have just dropped in and out like that?"

"How do you even know he was here?" Jo continued, raising her eyebrows. She leant forward onto her forearms, her lips quirking into a smile. "Left you a note, did he?"

In answer, Dean rolled his eyes and lifted his shirt once more. Smooth, flat skin met their eyes. Tanned and hardened by muscle, it expanded over his lungs with each breath, in perfect health.

"Well, I'll be damned," Ellen breathed. Dean lowered his hand. They'd seen enough to know that the deep, vicious claw marks had been completely healed. There was no sign that his skin had ever been shredded or torn apart. No scars, no puckered skin. Castiel's grace had worked exactly as he had commanded it to.

"So where's the feathery dude now?" Ash questioned, echoing the words that no doubt the Winchesters were already wondering. _Right here_, Cas wanted to growl.

The kitten scampered forward, raising a paw to pet at Sam's leg. He didn't trust Dean to push him aside without a second thought – he still didn't approve of the kitten, not really – but Sam glanced down and smiled. He lifted the cat in one massive hand, ignoring the warning glance from Ellen as he set Castiel down on the bench. The angel purred, rubbing the top of his head against Sam's palm in thanks. But the conversation continued around him, uninterrupted.

Dean swallowed, sinking onto a barstool next to his brother. Castiel didn't look up, momentarily occupied with the way that Sam scratched him behind his ears. "He's gone," the hunter muttered. "Son of a bitch skipped out without even saying 'hello'." His words dipped towards the end of the sentence, turning mocking. Anger rode underneath every syllable, and Castiel's fur began to stand on end. "Guess he had better things to do than hang out with the likes of plain, old us," Dean added with a forced laugh.

How _dare_ he. Cas was nearly shaking with the strength of his fury. Castiel had given _everything _to Dean – had driven himself unconscious, just to spare the hunter a few weeks of being bedridden while he healed.

Castiel could feel it – the very real hole in his chest where his grace had once curled. His "mojo" was completely drained – there'd be no more miracles from him until he could pull more of his grace together. Castiel had quite literally given Dean a part of himself, part of his very _essence_.

And yet Dean still had the _audacity _to ungrateful. Castiel shoved Sam away with a hiss, turning to his brother. His black fur rippled, the muscles beneath shaking with righteous anger. He may have healed Dean, and without his grace there was no possible way that he could even attempt to undo that.

But that did not mean, by any stretch of the imagination, that Dean could not be hurt again.

"Where the hell has he been these past few months, anyway? In _Heaven?_ Give me a break. I'm starting to think that the coward's bailed on us, Sammy."

"Dean-"

Fury whirled, hot and pulsing, inside the angel's chest with strength that threatened to choke him. Dean, a mere _human_, even attempting to assume himself better that he – the idea was laughable.

Only Castiel wasn't laughing.

His claws hooked, deep and powerful, into the tender flesh of Dean's left cheek. It tore apart like a knife through butter, and Castiel was only vaguely aware of the way his eyes widened, startled shouts echoing from all sides of the room. Cas found himself suddenly yanked into the air, shoved away by a pair of protective hands.

He didn't know who had shoved him, but for one moment Castiel was reminded of the beauty of flight – before he crashed, for the second time that day, into the hard and unforgiving ground. Cas skidded, rolling on his shoulder as his claws scrabbled for a grip. His small body thumped against a chair leg, and he shook himself free of the pain of landing before standing unsteadily.

"Dean, are you okay?" Sam asked, his voice high. Jo pressed a clean bandage into his hand, beckoning for Dean to hold it to his bleeding cheek as she watched him sympathetically.

"What the hell was that?" Dean growled. "I knew that cat was bad news-"

Castiel hissed, flattening his ears to his skull. He knew without looking that his fur would be bristling, his tail ramrod straight.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. What was Castiel even doing, sticking around like this? Dean made it clear that he was unwanted.

Cas marched past them all, flicking his tail in dismissal – though he didn't miss the chance to hiss and swipe at Dean's leg in spite. The door was open, never having fully closed after the Winchester's dramatic entrance, and he stalked through it with stiff shoulders.

When the cool wind hit, it was a reality check. The crisp breeze threaded small fingers through his coat, sending the kitten shivering.

Castiel was staying with the Winchesters because he had no other choice. In this form, he was entirely helpless.

But then anger overcame him once more, and Castiel walked determinedly into the bush. Perhaps a few hours of being left alone were exactly what would make Dean realize just how much he needed his angel.

* * *

When Castiel finally returned, day had already broken many hours previously. Cars lined the gravel parking lot, and Cas could hear the muted conversations beyond the _Roadhouse_ walls. The door was shut to keep out the buzzing insects, but the latch was not closed, so it took Castiel a moment to squeeze his way in.

Ellen and Jo were serving customers, though Cas could have easily guessed that. It took a moment before the kitten spotted Sam and Dean; the younger Winchester hunched over his laptop in a booth, Dean sitting opposite him and picking at his plate with a scowl twisting his lips.

Cas hesitated before padding towards the pair on soft, silent paws. During his time wandering through nature – though he was careful not to stray too far, and never too close to the highway – the anger in his chest cooled to a low simmer. He realized, now, that he may have overreacted.

Castiel had spent half an hour minutes stalking mice, and then a rabbit, and finally a bird before he had realized that his instincts were taking hold. It had been too late for the animals, as they were already lying with broken necks on the paths that he had already walked. It was then, when he had returned fully to himself, that Castiel realized his instincts might have overruled his mind yet again when he had lashed out at Dean.

He patted once more at Sam's leg – really, he was surprised that the hunter could still stand him at all – and found himself carefully lifted onto his lap. Castiel quickly clambered over his legs, stretching until he could leap onto the wooden table. Dean watched him with narrowed, suspicious eyes, touching at his cheek absently.

"Put him down, Sam," he said sternly. "He tried to cut me open!"

Sam chuckled. "With all that yelling, Dean, you were probably scaring the poor guy. Besides, I thought he'd left us. Let me celebrate, would you?" His words held the light lilt of teasing, and Dean rolled his eyes.

"Fine." But he still watched, carefully, as Cas sat on the edge of the table closest to him. Dean had once told him that he made effective "puppy-eyes", so he let his eyelids widen as he stared up at the hunter, attempting to smooth his feline features into the expression so familiar to his previous vessel.

It worked. Dean sighed heavily, and lifted a hand to stroke Cas' back. "Geez," he mumbled, "you're too cute for your own damn good."

Sam smiled widely, but made no comment.

Cas purred, pressing his head into Dean's palm. It wasn't much of an apology, but it would have to do. He concentrated fiercely on trying to communicate his repentance to his friend, but something caused him to cease in his effort. A primitive instinct, more ancient than any sense his Father had gifted to humanity, made his fur ripple and his heart skip a beat.

Castiel slowly turned his head, eyes widening as he saw the _Roadhouses_ newest customers. The human faces flickered, fighting for dominance with the ugly, twisted and misshapen features that he instantly recognized.

_Demons_.

* * *

Dean yelped as the kitten – damn, they really needed to name that ball of fluff – scrambled to his feet, leaping off of the table in a powerful bound. It dropped to the floor in front of two men, hissing wildly. Its ears were flicked back against its skull, fur bristling as its aggression escalated.

_Geez, not again_. "Sorry, fellas-" he began, sliding out of the booth. He paused as they spoke.

"What's this?" one murmured, bending to one knee. He tilted his head, and Dean got goose-bumps. What the hell? "It can _sense_ us… how?"

'Sense' them? Dean's '_this-is-freaking-weird-and-I-don't-like-it_' meter shot up a few notches.

The cat snarled, swiping its claw towards the extended hand. The man yelped as his skin tore, but swiftly recovered by grabbing the kitten by its neck. He shook it once, before throwing it at the floor. Even Dean winced as its head connected with the floorboards, the intelligence quickly fading from its eyes.

It was still breathing, though. Dean counted that as a good sign. So, just unconscious, then – but that didn't stop the protective rage from swelling in his chest. "_Hey!_" he yelled, as the man lifted the kitten once more. "Put him down, you sick son of a bitch!"

The pair paused, both turning to face Dean with terrifying synchronism. The first one smiled widely, almost purring. "Oh, Dean, Dean, Dean," he chastised. "Don't you know not to talk to your superiors like that? Or maybe you'd like a little… reminding."

Seriously, _what the hell_. Dean opened his mouth to deliver a sarcastic, witty one-liner, when the one with his kitten turned to the other. "I think Crowley'd like to see this," he muttered, sliding the limp body into the pocket of his oversized leather jacket. "See if we can't get a bonus, eh?"

Crowley?

Oh. _Demons._

* * *

Sam slammed the laptop shut, jumping to his feet as their eyes turned black. His hands rapidly searched his jacket, pulling out Ruby's knife with deadly familiarity. "Back off," he growled, voice low. "And put the kitten down."

Well, _that _was a line sure to go down in Winchester history. But the demons simply grinned, and leapt forward.

The ensuing fight was brutal and vicious. Sam found himself slammed against the wall as the kitten-stealing one raised a hand, and grunted with pain. But Dean rushed forward with a fist to his chin, knocking into him off-balance. The demon stumbled, and Sam fell.

The second demon snarled, hands held defensively. Sam lashed out, flat-footed, towards his knee. It connected with a _snap!_ and the bone bent in entirely the wrong direction. Nausea rose in his throat, quickly pushed down by triumph as the demon hissed in pain. But Sam was swift to follow up with a fist to his jaw.

Ruby's knife found a home in the demon's heart a moment later, and Sam made sure to twist it in deep. The demon's mouth fell open in a perfect _O_, and he yanked the blade free, already turning to assist his brother.

But too late. Sam, once again, felt his spine collide with the hard walls of the _Roadhouse_. Echoes around the room informed him that Dean, Ash, the Harvelles and the rest of the patrons had quickly followed suit. The demon smiled.

"Tsk, tsk," it hissed. "Don't know how to treat a guest, do we, boys?" It didn't give them a chance to answer, continuing with a predatory grin. "I'd love to stay and chat, but I think we'd all know how that would end." He glanced at his partner, nose wrinkling in distaste, "I don't particularly fancy ending up like him, and I'm not stupid. I'll be back... with more back-up, next time."

The demon turned, pausing at the door. "Oh," it began, throwing the words over his shoulder. "I think that the strange, demon-sensing cat will give me a nice price, don't you think? Pity. He does look… _delicious_."

And then he was gone.

Sam's knees collided with the floor, and he groaned in pain. Dean was already striding towards the door, but Sam knew that the demon would have already disappeared. "Damn it!" his brother cursed.

"Dean," he coughed, rising unsteadily to his feet. "We have to go. Now."

"Where?" he snapped back. "After the demons?"

"Yes! They took our kitten!"

"Sam. It's a _kitten_. Get another one."

"No." Sam clenched his jaw. It felt wrong, to even consider it. He'd cared for animals before, but… this was different. He didn't know how, but it was. "The demons might still be holed up at where we found them before. It'll be easy. Come _on_, Dean!"

His brother still looked unconvinced, and so Sam's face fell. He knew Dean's one, pivotal weakness – and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to use it against him.

"C'mon, Sam," Dean pleaded. But his brother was already won over, but what he affectionately called Sam's "puppy-eyes". Dean was a complete sucker for them, and he proved it now. "It's dangerous."

"Dean. We're going."

The two brother's locked gazes, and slowly, Dean exhaled slowly through gritted teeth. His chin dipped in a curt nod. "Fine."

* * *

**_Author's Note: _**_And here's chapter five! I hope that you all enjoyed… and aren't too angry with me for putting Castiel in danger. I'd apologize for leaving you all on a cliffhanger, but… well, I enjoy them so much! *evil laugh* However, I do have a small notice… as I currently have six exams to prepare for in the next two weeks, I may be unable to upload on time. However, I will still be aiming for the next chapter in a week's time._

_Once again, thank you all so, so much for adding this story to your favourites and/or alerts list, and a special thanks to Issab98, Dem-Destiel-Feels, LilGreenearth97, nathy faithy, Cariboucapecod, OnyxDay, Flyingwiththeflock425, Destiel101, chatnoir1, Guest, kaiasmith, PhayzonTech, daringestdevil, Warrior Queen 21, and FandomLover148 for their lovely reviews. Phew, that was a long list! :) Honestly, the fact that you guys are enjoying reading this story as much as I am writing it makes me so incredibly happy. You guys are absolutely wonderful! :)_


	6. Captivity In All Things

**Captivity In All Things**

_"I'm into observing animals being as wild as they can be in a captive environment." – Dominic Monaghan._

* * *

Castiel came to with a throbbing, painful pulse in his head, and a crippling weariness settled deep in his bones. He did not know how long he had been unconscious, and nor was there any way for him to find out.

Or was there? Cas stretched his limbs, carefully – assessing them for any sign of bruise or injury. There was none, and he swallowed the ripple of unease that followed. He knew that he had been wounded, or at least bruised; the absence of these physical reminders meant that Castiel had either been healed by outside forces – incredibly unlikely, considering his predicament – or that he had been unconscious long enough for his grace to re-gather itself, and automatically heal his vessel.

The only trouble was that he had no idea of what had occurred in that period of time.

Slowly, still carefully testing the limits of his weary vessel, Castiel climbed to his feet, determined to examine whatever it was that contained him. His blue eyes sharpened, searching the area immediately around him.

Cold metal stretched under his feet, forming a surface that was, perhaps, twice as large as he was. An identical sheet stretched above him, supported by thin bars of the same, shining metal. A moment later, it clicked.

Castiel was in a _cage_.

Instantly, his heart began to beat very fast, seemingly throwing itself against his ribs with every pulse. A dense, thick ball was choking Cas' airways, and his tail lashed, whipping through the air. The remaining, small pocket of rational thought was quickly surrounded by the angel's growing rage.

These dirty, scum-of-the-earth demons had thrown him into a _cage_.

Even more sickening, however, was his realization that he could not get out. He was a mighty angel of the Lord, and yet he was trapped.

Castiel growled, deep in his throat, as he climbed to his feet. It was painfully obvious that he would be unable to squeeze through the bars, but he wondered if tipping the cage onto the floor would, perhaps, bend the metal enough for him to go through. It was incredibly unlikely, but the only plan that the angel had.

However, before he could implement it, there was a great bang. Castiel glanced up, hissing, as a familiar figure swept through the now-open door. Black fabric swished around his ankles, his lips twisting smugly, as he came to a stop before the cage. The demon bent down, peering thoughtfully through the bars.

"Well, well," Crowley murmured, eyes sparkling maliciously. "Now _this_ is a surprise."

* * *

Dean tapped the brakes, the Impala slowing on the deserted street before coming to a complete stop. Both brothers peered through the windshield, assessing the empty building ahead.

The last time that they'd gone in there, Dean had come out with a torn-open chest. They'd thought that they'd gotten all of the demons the first time 'round… but, well, clearly not. Now, though, it appeared that they hadn't even come close.

It was _crawling _with demons. The black-eyed sons of bitches stuck together in groups, peering into the darkness around them. The numbers had probably doubled since their first attack, if not more. Dean's gaze narrowed, and he cursed under his breath.

Sam had decided on a plan some three miles back – run in, grab the cat, run out. Keep all demon interactions to an absolute minimum. It made sense, Dean had admitted. He still thought it was a whole lot of effort for one tiny, little kitten, though.

Really, what was the worst that could happen to it? Crowley could kill it, and that was it – even that twisted SOB wouldn't bother torturing it for kicks first. Dean didn't know where animals went when they died – Hell? Unlikely. Heaven? Angels probably didn't care enough to let them through the pearly gates. Wait, did animals even have souls?

Dean shook his mind free of the distracting thoughts. Those were questions for another day – preferably one where he could ask a damn angel himself.

Cas still hadn't shown up, despite the combined prayers of Sam and Dean. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, really, but at the very least, some acknowledgement would have been nice. And yet, there was nothing. Not a single feather, not a single whisper of grace.

Dean wasn't counting how Cas had healed him. After all, they didn't even know for sure that it _had_ been Castiel. For all they knew, it could have been one of his angel-buddies.

Then, the older Winchester snorted. Right, like that could happen. Last he'd heard, Cas had been on the run from Heaven – or at least, the dicks weren't very happy with him. Unless another one of them had rebelled alongside with him, or something, then Castiel was very much alone in the world. Dean just counted them all lucky that the angel hadn't been cut off from the Host – not yet, at least. Suddenly, he felt chills race down his spine. Was that what had happened? Was Castiel, even know, wandering in the world – hungry, lost, tired, and without help or the knowledge of how to contact them? Could he even hear their prayers?

Dean felt sick.

"Hey, you ready?" Sam's voice intruded upon his dark, swirling thoughts, startling Dean from his reverie. He glanced to the right, and slid Ruby's knife into his boot as he nodded. Sam's hazel eyes watched him closely, seeming almost concerned.

"Yeah," Dean coughed, looking away, "let's roll."

The Winchester threw his door open, and after a moment, Sam followed.

* * *

"You know, when a demon tells you that he's found a kitten," Crowley mused, still staring down at the angel in obvious delight, "one that can, apparently, sense demons… well, you know you've got something special on your hands."

Castiel snarled, flashing his white fangs. The demon-king was close – too close – and so he stalked slowly backwards, putting distance between his weak form and the demon's powerful hands. Irritation blazed though him, sudden and strong, at the realization that _this was what had become of him_. Once, a mighty and powerful celestial being; now, a useless and weak animal.

Humility tasted unfamiliar on his tongue.

"Oh, don't be like that," the demon scolded, amused. He stuck his index finger between the bars, making it writhe like a beheaded snake. "C'mere, you dumb cat-"

Triumph flared to life in his chest as Castiel practically flew forwards, his claws extended and swiping through the air. He felt them rip through the demon's skin, tearing tissue and drawing blood. Cas danced back as soon as the injury had been inflicted, some of his former pride returned.

But Crowley simply tsked, and removed his finger to glance at the blood beading across the wound. His eyes widened sarcastically, and he shot a mildly condescending look towards Castiel before he deadpanned, "I'm crippled." Then, the demon shook his hand – it was Cas' turn for his eyes to widen as the injury disappeared.

He scowled, hissing at the demon to show his displeasure. If only Gabriel had not stuck him inside this vessel! Crowley would be lying on the floor, his demonic essence burned right out of him, never to rise again. The thought gave Castiel strange pleasure – though also frustration, because he was so _close_, and yet so useless.

Crowley considered him for a moment, and then his fingers were moving quickly – fiddling with the side of the cage. Suddenly, it was opening, the door swinging wide. Castiel didn't waste his chance; he bunched his legs beneath his body and leaped. He was soaring, falling – but he could make it, he _could make it_, he-

Crowley's hand batted him out of the air like a fly.

The casual strike was fueled with hidden strength, and Castiel crashed into the wall with a force that would have definitely killed a normal kitten. Instead, he bounced back up immediately, snarling and hissing. His grace was small but it was _burning_, roaring with righteous fury. How dare this black-eyed demon even lay a hand on him? This creature of Hell had dared to throw _him_, an Angel of the Lord, around the room just because he _could_.

Castiel shook with fury. If he had had full access to his grace – no, if he had not wasted all that he had gathered on healing Dean – he would have smite Crowley where he stood. Instead, he was forced to watch as the demon-king took a step closer, a small smile pulling at his lips. Castiel hissed, but he only took another step.

"How… odd," Crowley mused. "Logically, you should be dead. That was more than enough to snap your furry little neck."

Cas growled, backing against the wall. His tail brushed against the bricks a moment later – he had nowhere to go.

Crowley's grin only widened. "I'm right, aren't I? Whatever you are, it's not entirely animal."

Castiel relaxed as the demon-king turned away, his hand reaching for a silver flask on the table. When his fingers closed around it, he hummed in seeming displeasure, but turned back to the kitten. He tapped the flask with his index finger. "You have no idea how hard it was to get a hold of this," he said slowly.

Then, faster than the angelic kitten could react, Crowley tipped the flask – and its contents – over his head. Castiel yowled, scuttling to the side and falling over his own feet. The water slid disgustingly over his fur, its ice-coldness biting deep into his skin. His fur was thickening together into clumps, plastering to his skin. But even while he was being subjected to the horrible water torture – was it torture? If so, it was a far cry from anything Castiel had experienced in Heaven – he still had enough self-awareness to recognize the substance.

Holy water.

Crowley had dared to drench him, an angel, in _holy _water. As though he were a _demon_. As though keeping him captured here was not insult enough!

When he opened his eyes, Crowley was directly in front of him, watching with cold interest. Castiel hissed, and swiped at the hand closest to him – he felt his claws break the skin a second before Crowley flicked his fingers, and Castiel was thrown to the side. He rolled head over heels before crashing to a stop, for the second time that day, at the base of another wall. Dazed, he could only listen as Crowley continued to gloat.

"So, not a demon. Though I'd have been shocked by your disobedience if you were." Far from sounding confused or interested, though, the demon sounded… delighted. As though having this mystery to solve was more fun than any other game the King of Hell could have thought up. "Also, you're no shifter." When Castiel looked at him through lowered eyelids, hissing his displeasure, Crowley continued, "That cage was silver. You would've been burned the second I threw you in. So that leaves… huh."

Cas glanced up, now slightly curious. The demon-king was staring at his palm – or more correctly, the redness across it. He raised one eyebrow, speaking slowly. "You… you _burned _me."

The kitten's eyes widened. He had not even meant to do that – it had been instinctual, probably born out of Castiel's desire to smite Crowley. His grace was stirring restlessly inside of him, and he prodded at it uncertainly. Disappointment swamped him as soon as he realized how little there was – barely enough to keep him alive, and certainly not enough for the kitten to make an escape.

Delicately, Crowley lifted his hand to his nose and inhaled. The demon's eyes were shut, eyebrows drawn together in an expression of confusion. Castiel watched him closely, feeling his heart skitter in his chest.

"Is that…" Crowley sniffed again, and this time his eyes flew wide open. Cas flinched, cowering slightly against the wall. "That's grace, my dear kitten. Your little burn reeks with angelic intent." The King began to laugh, drawing closer. "Oh, now this is interesting! An angel – in a kitten vessel! What kind of self-respecting, _foolish _soldier are you? Spending your days as nothing more than a weak animal, parading around with the Winche-"

The demon-king froze, and Castiel could feel his heart settle down all the way into his toes. Slowly, delicately, the King turned on his heel and stared down at the kitten. His heart was beating fast – too fast – in his chest, and he gathered his grace in one celestial hand. He wasn't sure how he could use it – but then, he wasn't sure that he'd have to. Another plan was forming in his mind, one that might be desperate enough to call attention – call _help._

"You're – you're Castiel, aren't you?" Crowley's whole body shook with laughter. "I bet they don't even know, do they? An _angel_, sneaking around as a _kitten_ – oh my, Castiel, that's a new one-"

But Cas was backing away. Fear was running rampant in his chest, but he steadfastly ignored it. He gathered all the strength of his mind, forcing it into one word that he flung into the abyss of thought. Angels weren't much for praying – why would they be, when it was the humans praying to _them?_ But Castiel wrapped this one word in all his desperation, his fear, and a tiny flicker of grace – and hoped that his brother would answer.

_Gabriel!_

* * *

Dean grabbed the demon's wrist, twisting it to the side and pulling the creature off-balance. His hand was swinging already – Ruby's knife glistened as it sliced through the air, finding a firm lodging in the demon's chest. The demon shuddered, it's insides glowing golden for a half-second, and then collapsed. Dean stepped over the body, and continued down the hall.

Sam was to his left side, his body tense and ready to fight. Both men were covered in blood – luckily, none of it their own. They'd gotten lost within a first few minutes of entering the facility, but then they'd gotten lucky. The sound of Crowley's laughter, snide and sarcastic, had come from down the hall.

Remembering the demon's words right after he'd taken the kitten and kicked their ass, it was only logical that the King would be dealing with it himself. Which was odd, Dean admitted, because why the hell were demons taking notice of a friggin' kitten?! Of course, he'd heard what the first one had said – something about it being able to sense demons – but couldn't all animals do that?  
Wait, no, Dean reminded himself. Animals could sense natural disasters… not unnatural hell-spawn.

Still, Dean filed the information away to think about later. At the moment, he and Sammy had something bigger on their hands.

Suddenly, from down the hall there was a shocked shout. "Hey!" Crowley yelled, indignant. "How the bloody hell did you-"

"Enough." The voice that answered was high, but still unmistakably a man's. It struck familiar chords within his mind, but he couldn't place it. "You have three seconds to get out of my sight, or I'll-"

The voice broke off, and Dean assumed that the demon had disappeared – teleported somewhere, most likely back to hell. He glanced at his brother – Sam nodded, looking determined.

Quietly, but swiftly, they ran down the hall. A closed door hid the room, but Sam seemed to resign himself to the obvious job – backing up a few paces, he kicked the door down. It flew open, crashing into the wall with a god-awful _bang!_

The man inside looked up, seeming completely at ease and unsurprised by their entrance. And – God help them – his eyes actually _lit _up and he grinned.

"Gabriel?" Sam questioned, cautiously. Dean didn't hand to look to know that his little brother was still holding on to his weapons, and felt a brief flash of pride.

Apparently, the archangel had noticed it too, because his gaze bounced down at their hands – clenching guns, knives, holy water, and all manner of weapons. He frowned slightly, and sucked obnoxiously on his lollipop before purring, "Ola."

"What are you doing here?" Dean growled. Not, of course, that seeing Gabriel was particularly bad – but here? It spoke for all different kinds of trouble, none of which that they were particularly interesting in getting involved with.

"Um, the usual." Gabriel waved his hand. "Crowley was being a dick, but you two showed up before I could smite him." The archangel frowned playfully at them from over his hand, and added, "Thanks for that."

Sam and Dean exchanged looks, before the former stepped forward. "Okay. Look, Gabriel, we're not here to fight. Crowley took our cat, and we need to find him. I know it sounds a little weird, but if you could-"

"Oh, you mean this one?"

Gabriel, with the biggest shit-eating grin that Dean had ever had the displeasure of seeing, stepped back. The kitten – they really had to give that thing a name, Dean thought absently – had been curled around his ankle. Sam sighed in relief, taking a step forward. Suddenly, Gabriel's hand flew up, and his brother froze. Dean snarled, going to move forward and found himself stuck, too.

"Not so fast, boys." Gabriel's eyes narrowed. "You should really take better care of your pets."

"He's not our- ugh, just never mind. Gabriel, let us go!" Dean finished, straining against the grace that held him captive.

"I will. Eventually. But now, I want you to tell me exactly how you got into this mess."

"Damn it, Gabriel!" Dean yelled. "We don't have time for this."  
The archangel spared him a scathing glance. "Please. I can smite any demon that walks through that door easily. Now, continue."

Sam sighed, and relented. "Fine. We were taken by surprise. The demons turned up at the place we were staying, and had us cornered. The cat seemed to realize they were demons, and so they took him because they thought Crowley would be interested. Happy?"

"And you couldn't stop them?" Gabriel tsked. "Really, you're out of practice." Then, the angel bent down, lifting the animal easily from the floor. He stared at it intently, and pressed two fingers fondly to its forehead. Dean narrowed his eyes. "You should take better care of yourself," he scolded.

_What the hell?_

Gabriel snapped his fingers, and the Winchesters found themselves freed. Sam strode forward immediately, accepting the ball of fluff that fell into his arms. But before the archangel could disappear, Dean's hand shot out and gripped him by the elbow. "Wait," he growled.

He turned, fixing the older Winchester with a surprisingly cold stare. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah." Suddenly anxious, Dean licked his lips and spat out the words before he could rethink them. "Where's Cas?"

"What?"

"You heard me. We haven't seen him in months, and last we heard, he was on the run from Heaven. Now I know that you're not exactly buddy-buddy with him, but… have you heard from him? This is important."

Gabriel raised one brown eyebrow, turning slightly. "On the run from Heaven?" he repeated. "You're wrong."

"You think I could make this up?" Dean snapped. "Look, man, this is _important_. Cas could be in trouble, for all we know!"

Gabriel wrenched his elbow free of Dean's grasp. "I haven't seen Castiel for a couple of days," he said slowly. Dean's eyes narrowed. He might be imagining things… but that sounded like a lie if he'd ever heard one. "But I know that he's safe. He's not running from Heaven."

Both Winchesters stepped forward, their mouths falling open – to yell, to demand answers… Hell if Dean knew. But Gabriel bounced backwards, and grinned. "See you 'round," he said quickly.

And then the archangel disappeared, and the Winchesters were left, once again, alone.

* * *

**_Author's Note: _**_Oh my goodness, but it has been a shamefully long time since this story was updated. Way, way longer than I intended it to – and for that, I am extremely sorry. I'm not entirely sure how, but during my two-week break I just lost my muse completely. The story didn't want to be written, and any time I tried, it was like trying to force Dean Winchester to eat a salad. In other words, damn near impossible!_

_That being said, however, I am so incredibly grateful for how understanding each and every one of you have been. I really, really want to thank you for that. Also, now that I'm back, I promise to be updating once again on a mostly-weekly schedule! Hurray!_

_Once again, I am always blown away by how many people are interested in this story. The support of you guys means the world to me. I want to thank everyone who has added this to their favourites and/or alerts lists. And, of course, a special thank-you goes to nathy faithy, Cariboucapecod, OnyxDay, Destiel101, Flyingwiththeflock425, LilGreenearth97, chatnoir1, GeorgieGirl999, Goober goo writes, Guest, Harrypotter12345, TheDoctorsGingerGirl, obsessed-fic-fan2, guest, PhayzonTech, and Samantha Craine for their lovely reviews and kind words. Thank you so much! You guys are just absolutely wonderful. :)_


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